Almost
by Popcorn Love
Summary: The saddest word in the whole wide world is the word almost. He was almost in love. She was almost good for him. He almost stopped her. She almost waited. He almost lived. They almost made it. — Tiny Stories by Nikita Gill *Sherlolly & Not Beta Read*
1. Almost

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing of Sherlock BBC and this story was inspired by a Tumblr post that I came across. I got the owner's permission, a very nice lady named Katie (benedictsherllock) to use it. (post/114597081319/molly-and-sherlock-almost-insp)

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 **The saddest word in the whole wide world is the word _almost_.**

Molly Hooper could remember vividly the first time she met Sherlock Holmes. It was one of the rarer sunny days in London. "Could you wheel out Mr Maxwell's body for me? An innocent man's life is at stake here." A rather tall man in a coat with its collar upturned stood at the entrance of the morgue. "And you are?" He walked closer to her and Molly saw his curls and intense eyes.

"Sherlock Holmes, the world's only consulting detective. I'm sure your boss had already informed you that I was granted access to both the lab and morgue in St. Bart's." The pathologist recalled that Mike told her some time ago of this special request and went to retrieve the body. "How do you know he's innocent?" Molly questioned the consulting detective, wondering how he could be so sure about it.

"The main suspect now detained by people who called themselves the Scotland Yard had his appendix removed three months ago." Sherlock explained briefly while examining the body of Alan Maxwell which confirmed his theory. "Exactly what I thought. Most excellent. His neighbour killed him, not his brother." He looked up and declared to Molly with a gleam in his eyes. "You aided in preventing a wrongly accused man from getting a death sentence, Molly Hooper."

The pathologist returned the smile. It was hard not to, Sherlock was like a child celebrating his victory and Molly was included in his celebrations which somehow felt intimate. That was probably why she would never forget that fateful day.

 **He was almost in love.**

Sherlock Holmes scoffed at the word 'love'. Only fools would even try to attempt it. Perhaps the thought that they could beat the odds of one in seven billion and manage to find their other half thrilled the gamblers resided in them. It was one topic that the consulting detective shunned at all costs. He did not need to understand why love made people do unexplainable things including murder, he just needed to know how it was done nevertheless Sherlock was thankful for it, how else would he have a constant supply of cases to handle.

The consulting detective specifically made it known to everyone that he would only work with Molly Hooper because she belonged to a tiny group of people that actually knew what she was doing. If asked, Sherlock could easily list out the numerous merits of the petite pathologist though no one did, saving him the trouble of doing so and he assumed everyone else knew how good she was.

They worked in perfect sync with rapport built from years of working side-by-side. Sherlock valued Molly's opinions, both about work and in making him more 'human', her words not his. The consulting detective believed his need for food and stimulants which the latter he had kicked out of a long time ago already made him as human as possible, thank you very much. Sherlock would even go as far as saying that he enjoyed Molly's company.

The pathologist was a good listener, did not interrupt and always gave helpful inputs. If she was in danger of any kind, he would save her without thinking however if the person they were talking about was his brother, the consulting detective would record it down for his own entertainment then maybe thought of helping him if it was really absolutely necessary. As a matter of fact, something similar happened few days ago when Molly forgot to feed her cat, Toby and was rushing to get back home.

Sherlock had a case to discuss with her so they bought takeaways and he was trailing behind, enjoying her frenzy state despite him reassuring her that Toby would not die of hunger since according to his observations, the consulting detective had been to Molly's flat many a times, the cat had stored more than enough fats to be able to handle the food issue resulting from its owner's negligence for a day. "Firstly, Toby is not fat, he's just chubby and that made him great to cuddle with and secondly, I'm not a bad owner, Sherlock."

He smirked and made no reply. The green man stopped flashing and was replaced by the red man. With her head turned back to talk to him, the pathologist continued to cross the road, not noticing the change of lights though Sherlock did. The consulting detective rushed over to Molly and pulled her into the safety of his arms. The screaming of car honks disrupted the quiet night and Molly's face was pressed tightly to Sherlock's chest as the two experienced various effects of the adrenaline rush. Sweaty palms, accelerated heartrate, quickening of breaths and dilated pupils.

Staring at Molly's slightly opened lips that Sherlock presumed was due to temporary disorientation, the consulting detective swallowed down the ridiculous urge to kiss her. They slowly recovered from the incident and disengaged themselves from the unexpected hug. "We better go going before your darling Toby expired from the lack of food." Picking up the takeaways that he dropped at the sight of Molly in immediate danger, Sherlock concluded that they were still edible and crossed the road but not before waiting for her to catch up.

"What? I thought you said he would be fine. Come on then, Sherlock." The pathologist started to walk a little bit faster, throwing very quickly behind her the fact that she nearly had a car accident. Watching Molly, the consulting detective decided to not be a gambler, not trusting that he could beat the odds stacked against him.

 **She was almost good for him.**

The consulting detective was not surprised at how transparent he was to her, Molly knew him better than anyone else would simply because she bothered to make an effort to know him. Before Sherlock met John, the pathologist was the one keeping him in line, not straying too far away however he could not let Molly and the rest to know the effect that she had on him so Sherlock made it a secret, safely locked up in his mind palace where no one could touch it, not even his own brother.

When he did take out to look at it, the memories did not fade or turned yellow from years of careful storage. It was exactly how he remembered it. Her tears, smiles, disappointments, anger and laughter that were all directed at him, that were all his and his only. Those would do. Those would be enough for him even if it was not.

Molly was one drug Sherlock could not kick out of and it frightened him though of course he did not show it. It would not do to acknowledge the presence of fear so the consulting detective did the only thing he could do. Sherlock pushed her away as far as he could.

 **He almost stopped her.**

During his stay at her flat, Sherlock saw Molly prepared herself for her date with Tom countless of times. Like the two poles on a magnet, the two men never met each other. Sherlock 'death' was supposed to remain a secret until he's officially back and the pathologist made arrangements for her to go to Tom's house when he was using hers.

Sherlock never told her that the reason he chose her flat as his bolthole was because the consulting detective wanted Molly's company. "Remember to switch off the stove and lock the door when you leave, Sherlock. Good night." She shut the door without waiting for his reply and he never felt lonelier yet he would not admit it to anyone, not even to himself.

If Sherlock was not the man he claimed to be, the consulting detective would stop her from leaving and beg Molly to stay with him but he's Sherlock Holmes and Sherlock Holmes does not beg so he went to sleep in her bed alone, imagining Molly was with him and not some faceless bloke instead.

 **She almost waited.**

The pathologist never held any illusions that Sherlock's words were always kind and sometimes they stung. A lot. Molly knew very clearly what type of a man she fell in love with, though it did not stop her from falling a little deeper each time because the pathologist understood that under the tough exterior of his hid a little boy afraid of getting hurt.

Maybe it was just her and her romantic notions but still, she saw it. Glimpses of that boy in him and in this very moment, Molly saw it again. She could almost hear his internal cries, venting out what he would not let himself express verbally. Molly wanted to…what did she want to do? Anything and everything for him not that Sherlock would allow it.

'Caring is not an advantage' was his motto in the way he lived his life and it extended to his friends which was plain silly to Molly because that's what friends do, they care about each other. She noticed that the consulting detective's eyes were dilated when he asked for her help and if Molly indulged in her flight of fancy, she would say it was because of her however the pathologist was a practical person and believed it was the dim lights that caused it.

"You." One word was enough, more than enough for Molly to risk everything, her career and life for him. Loving a man that led such an exciting life where chasing down criminals was a daily activity had its own dangers and even though she was not addicted to the rush of adrenaline, she realised that one way to feel alive was being close to death and the consulting detective was Molly's drug for that. It made her life miserable but without him, it was even more so. At least the pathologist's life was not boring when Sherlock's around.

Maybe Molly was getting old and thought it was time to settle down, get married and set up a family. Then came along Tom. Reliable and…many other things. Different from Sherlock if one could overlook the physical similarities of the two. Waiting for the consulting detective was a lost cause and Molly guessed one day she just woke up from the dream that she weaved for herself. Still, it was a bloody good dream.

 **He almost lived.**

It took Sherlock Holmes two years to dismember Moriarty's criminal empire and it took the same amount of time for his life to change completely. It was as if the world carried on without him. Molly for sure moved on with her life and from him then John even got his own family now. Everything had changed and London was not the same anymore. It was not what Sherlock was used to.

If the consulting detective was sentimental enough, Sherlock would say that he regretted faking his death, having lost everything to time. Moriarty never was his nemesis, time was and it defeated him fair and square. He survived the fall and managed to cheat death yet Sherlock found himself unable to handle the consequences of his actions. He was truly lost.

 **They _almost_ made it**

Sherlock pretended to be engrossed in watching telly when John entered 221B with Isabelle. "So do you want to go together with us to Molly's wedding tomorrow?" The consulting detective took over his godchild from the doctor with ease, he had months of practice to perfect his baby skills, and placed Isabelle on his lap, gently bouncing her.

"Where's your wife?" John gave his best friend a look. "Mary's with Molly at her bachelorette party." Sherlock merely nodded at him and continued to play with Isabelle while the doctor opened and closed his mouth a couple of times but no words came up. "If you have something to say, John, say it. No need to show your daughter how good you could imitate a fish." The consulting detective softly chided him while smiling at the baby which she gurgled in response.

"Fine, you said so yourself. What exactly are your feelings for Molly? If you think she is making a major mistake, you need to go tell her and not hide in one corner to lick your wounds, Sherlock." John was getting annoyed at the development of things or to be more specific, the lack of. "If you are saying that marriage by itself is a mistake then I believe you are right, John. You had gained ten pounds since your marriage."

The doctor frowned at Sherlock yet at the same time pitied him. "You know very well what I'm talking about." The consulting detective could not stand the pity in John's voice and handed Isabelle back to her father. "Meeting me was Molly's biggest mistake." Looking at the invitation card placed on the mantel top, Sherlock murmured more to himself than to John. "I would see you Watsons tomorrow at 11am then. Good night."

Giving a small smile to the father and daughter pair, Sherlock retired for the night. The consulting detective would not miss Molly Hooper's wedding for all the crime in this world. It might be the pathologist's biggest mistake in meeting him however it was the greatest accomplishment in his life for knowing her.

If only that was enough.

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 **Author's note:** I was deeply affected by the words edited with the images of Sherlolly because they just fitted so well together that I was washed over by feels and I told myself that I needed to write this, I needed closure haha so I hope it's not too bad for you readers *fingers crossed*, enjoy!


	2. Always

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing of Sherlock BBC and this story was inspired by a Tumblr post that I came across. I got the owner's permission, a very nice lady named Katie (benedictsherllock) to use it. (post/114597081319/molly-and-sherlock-almost-insp)

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Frustrated with the tossing and turning, Sherlock got out from his bed and left the room. Perhaps he would try his luck with the sofa but the consulting detective stopped at the corridor, staring at the person lying on it. Molly turned her head and their eyes locked. Sherlock moved towards the rather flushed pathologist and as he came closer, his sensitive nose corroborated the consulting detective's assumption that she was quite intoxicated.

Molly produced a key and held it up. "Mycroft gave it to me some years ago in case of an emergency." The word 'overdose' hung heavily in the air but Sherlock ignored it and walked over to the kitchen, wetting a towel. He folded it twice and disposed the towel on Molly's forehead unceremoniously. She exclaimed wordlessly, more from being surprised at the sudden sensation of something cold placed on her forehead rather than actual pain.

Sherlock would never physically hurt Molly but as for the verbal part of it, that was another matter to speak of. The consulting detective mentally cringed at the years of unkind words he had thrown at her and most of the time Sherlock did not even realise it until he saw the look on Molly's face but by then it would be too late to make any amends. As time passed, his unintentional insults soon developed into part of the defence mechanism against her.

 _You always say such horrible things, every time. Always, always._

Molly's headache started to ease with the help of the cold towel and neither talked, allowing the ticking of the second hand to fill in the silence for them. "Why am I doing here? I should not even be here." The pathologist whispered to the darkness and made an attempt to rise from the couch but thought the better of it. She was tired of running away.

"When you returned from the dead, I could not sleep in my own bedroom anymore because I knew very well that you slept in my bed and I could not stop thinking about it, about you. The feeling became too suffocating for me." Molly felt a burden off her chest when she said it out loud.

Sherlock then replied with his own confession. "This thank you was a few years too late, Molly but I hope you would still accept it. Thank you for your Christmas present, the scarf was wonderfully made. I did not wear it as I was afraid that the scarf would get dirtied or torn considering how intense my work for the day was." Sherlock did not mention that even though he never wore it, the scarf was treasured and kept close to him. It was something he found sustenance in for that two years.

Molly's lower lip wobbled as she finally heard acknowledgement from the consulting detective where the pathologist had unknowingly been waiting for years. She had waited far too long for it and all her bottled-up emotions found their way to escape from her eyes in the form of tears. Sherlock sat beside her, holding Molly's head to his chest as she sobbed to her heart's content.

This would be the last time Molly Hooper would ever cry for Sherlock Holmes so she took the opportunity to mourn for all of their almost, if-only and what-if that piled up from the day they first met and in the end the pathologist figured out the real reason why she was here, the night before her wedding at Sherlock's place and just the two of them. Molly wanted to find closure and she found it.

She would always remember the memories with the consulting detective but it was also time to let go of them because they were holding her back from the future with Tom. Sherlock would always be Molly's wrong man at the right time and the pathologist did not at all regret meeting him whether it was a mistake or not. Molly lifted her head then gawked at his nightshirt where her tears created dark patches that littered across Sherlock's chest area.

He shook his head, brushing off her apology even before Molly said anything but it must be an uncomfortable feeling, wearing a wet shirt so after wiping her face with the same towel, the pathologist stood up. "It's late; I should go back now so you could change your shirt." Molly smiled kindly at the consulting detective. "Stay." Sherlock did not elaborate his request and she did not ask for it. Stay for a while more? Stay and not leave? Stay and then what?

"What are your views on marriage, Sherlock?" Molly asked quietly, not looking at him. It was the consulting detective's turn to display his skills of mimicking a fish. "And that's also my answer to your question." She placed both the key and towel on the table, not in a resigned manner because the pathologist still knew him best. "Good night, Sherlock. Don't be late for my wedding tomorrow." Molly gently closed the door after her. The room was once again engulfed in silence and he was once again alone.

Sherlock did not remember much of the wedding but he did remember how beautiful she looked as Molly walked past him and towards her groom. The consulting detective kept that image in his mind palace, together with the other memories of her. "If any man can show just cause, why they may not lawfully be joined together, let him now speak, or else hereafter for ever hold his peace." The priest spoke powerfully and wedding guests inside the church quieted down at his words.

The Watsons turned towards Sherlock. If the consulting detective wanted to stop Molly from marrying Tom then this would be his final chance to do so but he did not even move a muscle. John sighed, unsure if it was from the relief that Sherlock did not wreak havoc at the pathologist's wedding or at the knowledge that his best friend would probably remain all by himself till his dotage. In the consulting detective's opinion, no man would ever be good enough for Molly and he was one of those men so Sherlock kept his silence.

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 _Thirty years later_

A throat cleared behind the retired consulting detective and he turned around. Sherlock instantly recognised Molly who besides the grey hair and some wrinkles, time did not leave much trace on her. "It's been a while and you looked…well, Sherlock. Umm, John gave me your address but in hindsight, I should have called you first. I'm so sorry. If you are busy, I could…" Feeling uneasy about her intrusion, Molly began to walk back.

"No, it's fine. Do come in, Molly." Sherlock held the door open for her and Molly tentatively entered the house. Sherlock gestured her to a chair at the table and put on the kettle. By the time Sherlock returned with tea and biscuits that he managed to dig out from the cupboard which luckily had not yet expired, the self-taught beekeeper was composed enough at Molly's abrupt but not unwelcomed presence. Damn John for not warning him in advance so he could better prepare himself for her arrival.

Molly stirred her cup of tea like she was searching for something. "Is the tea not to your taste?" Sherlock did run out of milk and whenever he could delay his grocery shopping, Sherlock would postpone it for as long as possible. "Oh no, I was just looking if there were eyeballs or thumbs in it. You did have an incredibly unique way of drinking tea, Sherlock." And Molly's style of joking was precisely how he remembered it. Terrible.

Nevertheless, the corners of Sherlock's mouth lifted and he replied. "My supply of eyeballs and thumbs happened to run out yesterday so I'm afraid you would have to do make with this, Molly." She laughed and it reminded Sherlock of the past where they used to sit together, drinking tea and discussing about cases. Sentiments did come with age, he thought humbly.

"How's the beekeeping going for you?" Molly asked with a benign smile. "Well. This year was a good harvest and how's your family?" Time was kind to that man. Like wine, Sherlock had aged well and he was still a good-looking man. Molly noticed that he did not wear a wedding ring or any sign that he ever wore one. She worked with Sherlock long enough to pick up some basic deduction skills from the world's only consulting detective.

"Matthew's an engineer, Lucas works in a charity organization and my youngest, Grace, she's going to become a teacher. Now that I'm retired and Tom passed away from stomach cancer three years ago, I suddenly had all the time in the world then John encouraged me to visit you. He thought you would enjoy some company aside from the bees. I would be expecting my first grandchild next month and I'm so looking forward to being a grandmother that I would positively spoil him or her. Sorry, I'm babbling now. You could stop me, Sherlock."

Sherlock nodded politely since he already deduced the majority of it from the moment he laid his eyes on Molly and if he missed something which it rarely happened, John would always blatantly drag her into the conversation each time the doctor called Sherlock regardless of what they were talking about so he was constantly receiving updates about Molly even though they had slowly drifted apart over the years but not John, he continued to keep a close contact with her.

John had no discretion when it came to matchmaking Sherlock and Molly. He even called them 'Sherlolly' as if they were one entity instead of two separate individuals. One must forgive their best friend's quirks due to old age. "I like listening to you, Molly." Evidently what he said must have caught her off guard as Molly stumbled over her reply. "I-I thought you hated my 'ceaseless chattering'?" Sherlock shrugged his shoulders. "People change." Molly said steadfastly. "I like you just the way you are, Sherlock."

Sherlolly, I mean Sherlock and Molly then smiled at each other. "Would you like to bring some honey back home? It's nature at its best." She beamed at him. "Sure! Grace loves honey. It seemed like I had made the right decision in coming here."

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 **Author's note:** Maybe I was not treating Sherlock fair enough but after reading interviews of Mr Moffat and Mr Gatiss about the character Sherlock, discussion of Sherlock with my friend and my personal view of him, I just could not visualise him doing what normal people would do (lol).

I always stood firmly that whatever you post, the writer must believe in it so I discarded the idea of Molly eloping with Sherlock etc. but I hope the ending made it a little better? I did not want to ruin the whole story for this though it felt incomplete so I decided to add on one more chapter to end it properly :)


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